Guardians of the Galaxy (Outer Rim Coalition)

[Fulcrum]

Waystation Cantina​

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Terminus. Crossroads to nowhere.​

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Exotic transports from all over the verse choke up an urban skyline. Merchants from as far as Wild Space, the Rishi Maze, even distant Firefist fill an endless labyrinth of bustling streets and bodegas. Advertisements scrawled in aurebesh and a dozen local trade scripts shine in all their neon glory. Not far from the largest surface port is a bustling cantina with a certain reputation. Rumor is, its the place to go if you want to sign up with the Underground.​

​

PROFILE // AGENT DARKSWORD, CODENAME DEACON​

COVER IDENTITY // RED BLADE, PIRATE CAPTAIN​

MISSION // LOCAL UNDERGROUND CONTACT​

​

Agent Darksword, better known around these parts as the infamous ex-pirate Red Blade, leaned back in his private booth and ogled the shapely zeltron singing on the cantina's center stage. He had spent months working to ingratiate himself with the local outer rim resistance movements, and they finally trusted him enough to try him out on recruitment. It was a menial task, but every relationship had to start somewhere.

He downed the pan galactic gargle blaster in a single gulp, cybernetic implants dulling the worst of the hard liquor's deleterious effects. If Deacon had known in advance how difficult it was to get drunk on an augmented metabolism, he would have put up more of a struggle with his old One Sith handlers. It was a good thing drinks were on the Coalition tonight.

"Any messages for me, dollface?" he tilted his shades down far enough for the cantina waitress to catch a glimpse of artificial eyes.

"Nothin' yet, Blade," the young staffer pouted, but Deacon slipped her a talon anyway for her troubles.

Satisfied that anyone who asked the right questions would be pointed his way before long, the man in black settled back in and let his attention drift once again to the zeltron's performance.

 

[Christine Dellard]

Chris could not deny that she longed for the stage again, when her green gaze looked more upon the stage itself rather than the dancing zeltron that kept the patrons entertained for the night. With a boot on the seat, knee drawn up to her chest, she sat in a booth across the room opposite Blade.

Black was her color. Only thinking about the color itself it would seem pretty dull, but she definately knew how to up it more than one notch, with rivets and stylish jewelery from the best rock fashion designers of Nar Shaada. Her black tights were adorned with a combined leather and rivet pattern across the knees. Mid-high boots, yet not too heavy to hinder her agility and speed. She wore a black, loose top with short sleeves and a large red and white printing on the front. On top of it all, she wore an open black swoop-biker leather jacket. One could spot a rivet bracelet around one of her wrists and a whole metal one around her other.

An extra eye on the spot. That was pretty much the task, if anything went south they should have the number for it. Though, they did not expect any hassle but one could never know on a planet like Terminus in general, and at a join like the Waystation in particular. Around her hip was a dark brown leather belt, slightly lopsided because of the slugthrower, her own custom built one, that sat safely in a holster on her right side. She also kept a vibroblade hidden inside her jacket. Walking naked in a place like this was right out foolishly.

She laid her long blonde and slightly wavey hair over to one shoulder, before picking up the bottle of altoonian ale again and taking a sip of it. She threw a glance across the room and in the direction of his booth. Question was who or what would show up and hopefully be introduced to the ORC by ''Blade''. The night was young and the ones who knew who to ask would know where to look. With another sip of the beer, she gazed upon the stage again, wondering if joints acoustics were any good for an electric solo...

[member="Deacon"]

 

[Kaia Starchaser]

She was hearing a lot of ‘You Starchasers are everywhere.’ Her brother was supporting the Corellian Confederation, and while her father and she both were as well, the latter two were found tramping around the Outback and the Outer Rim more often than not. Her father was around with the Silvers too, but for Kaia? It just felt right to be here, with the Outer Rim. She had made her trip from the homeworld out to Terminus. She was happy to be ‘home’ really. And having landed her YT-2400 she made her way to location that the Waystation Cantina. Stepping in, the quarter-Mirialan had made it into the cantina, black leather jacket, with a pistol underneath.

Looking around, the Mirialan smiled as she approached the bar and grabbed herself a Corellian whiskey and found herself a seat. She knew that there were going to be a few people she knew here, and she caught the eye of Red Blade and gave the pirate a nod. Wasn’t sure what he was doing here, but maybe it was something he had to do, to get to… wherever. She wasn’t sure.

The blonde was new, not one she recognized right away, but cute. In a swooper sort of way. She herself was a spacer, so that worked out, but she was just trying to find out this whole connection. One of those Underground-ORC sponsored events. Was going to be nice to see the people.

[member="Deacon"]
[member="Christine Dellard"]

 

[Raven Ashe]

The slow stomp of boots drew nearer to the bar. Aside from the brief survey of the cantina, the masked figure's attention hadn't lingered on any individual present. Not even the Zeltron on stage. It had made straight for the source of all liquid solutions. Before the alter of abandon, a dark, gloved hand deposited an offering. As she stood there awaiting a response to the silent prayer, a fair share of eyes might have found themselves running over the contours of her figure. The dark armorweave material conformed to her body like a glove, with near-black betaplast covering her upper torso. It did nothing to hide the width of her hips nor the modest bust of her chest. Little of that mattered, however, when it came to spying the weapon of penance secured fast to her right hip -- that of a burnt, golden lightsaber.

"And what are you supposed to be? Sith... or Pirate?" the bartender broke the silence that hunt between them, having made no move for her currency.

The bottom third of her knight's helm split down the center and slid off to either side of her head. It left a v-shaped cutaway whose tip covered a blue nose, and exposed the Pantoran's jaw and dark blue lips. "Hasn't anyone ever told you?" Raven lifted a leg to claim the stool at the bar. "Sith only drink blood, and pirates drink the ladies. I'll have a Red Dwarf."

Credits swept from the bar in a single pass, the bartender snorted. "Figured you for a Red Cloud gal." A glass clacked atop the counter and the booze began to flow.

"The night is young," she replied before giving the man a smile. The black eyes of the helm angled straight at the man topping off the glass.

Her hand slid forward to retrieve the drink and bring it to her lips for a quick douse. It made a sharp clack when it struck the countertop empty. The soft grind of glass over the bar sounded when she moved it an inch in the bartender's direction. "I was told there might be work here."

A moment passed as he filled the drink once more as though she were the only customer in the place. Sith or Pirate, this one was just as demanding as either. "And who told you that?"

"A little bird," Raven's fingers wrapped about the refilled glass, "that I helped passing through. Said this was the place to meet the right people, and get the lay of the land."

"Uh huh," the bartender took to cleaning a glass waiting on the next order. "And they tell you this isn't exactly the Republic?" With lifted eyebrows he nodded to the two standing behind Raven at that point.

Raven's lips curled upward before she tossed the second glass back. Another sharp clack struck the countertop. "Something like that." Raven slowly stood to her feet and turned to face the two that'd come to haunt her shadow. "Now, boys..."

The Rodian reached toward her first. His shrill cry of alarm came only half a second later as he withdrew the offending appendage and stumbled back as though he'd be burnt. His burly Human friend was startled, but soon took on the look of a man about to defend his friend's pride. That one opened both arms out wide to give the woman a good, bone-crushing bear hug... And he doubled over, skittered backward and then collapsed to one knee with his arms around his own body.

Raven hadn't moved a muscle. Her hands extended out to either side as the wayward traveler gave them a helpless shrug. "Guess you boys can't handle your drink. Tell you what," the smile peeked out from the razor edge of the helm, "drink's on me."

The Rodian said something in his own language -- probably about her mother -- as he started to draw a blaster.

One quick jab at his hand knocked the weapon free of numbed fingers. Another struck between the eyes sending him reeling three steps back. A third crossed to his friend that had a defiant gaze of a man trying to build up rage to take her on a second time. Then Raven pivoted and gave her green friend a warm, armored elbow to the face and sent him to the floor. "That was fun, boys, but I don't make money selling tickets."

Let me finish devouring them, a sinister voice whispered in the dark places of Raven's mind. The sampler it'd collected moments ago only placating its ceaseless demand to suck the Force out of everyone in sight.

She stepped back toward the bar and pointed down at her glass for a third shot. "You sure there isn't someone in need for a dungeon delving woman like myself?"

Tag: [member="Deacon"] | [member="Christine Dellard"] | [member="Kaia Starchaser"]​

 

[Yula Perl]

Fly Me to the Moon

Spoiler

[media]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=643mKHqdf8Q
[/media]

Distress signals, Sith, work bench, First Order, pirates, returning an old lady’s stolen purse. It all added up, and between the blood and broken bones and soot, it was hard to find time to relax. Terminus was her second home by now, and Yula had been almost eager to trade a greasy tank top in for a nice dress and a spot on the stage.

The Waystation was popular with Coalition folk, spacers, and passersby alike. She’d become well acquainted with the staff by now, enough for the bartender to mention that one of their regularly scheduled acts had dropped out for tonight, and that they couldn’t find anyone to fill the slot.

It was, of course, her mother’s dress. Why buy your own when your mom had a seemingly infinite supply of clothes, that somehow still seemed to grow each year?

Her voice faded into that last silky note, playing off the vibrato of the final guitar chord. The set came to an end just as an unrelated fight broke out, and she unfurled her hand from the microphone, smiled to the crowd and stepped off to behind the stage. A quick change back into her spacer duds and she was making a beeline for the bar.

[member="Deacon"] | [member="Christine Dellard"] | [member="Kaia Starchaser"] | [member="Raven Ashe"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

[member="Deacon"] | [member="Christine Dellard"] | [member="Yula Perl"] | [member="Raven Ashe"]

The dust of travel seemed ground into the old timers clothes and very bones. Worn and haggard, his face had worry lines and sorrow etched in it deeper than a memorial carving at a cemetery. But there was a steel in his eyes yet, as he sat idly, drinking in the performance of the young zeltron. Well, hell, she wasn't that young to be performing like she was, but to him she was. A wry grin touched his lips, and for a moment a spark of mirth in his eyes. Some things never changed.

As for him? He was quiet. Reserved. After all this time, the wisecracking battle master had finally found a calm center it seemed. A glass of strong Corellian whiskey sat to his left hand, fingers idly playing with the condensate as wary eyes traced the room. First class bloodstripes peeked out from a battered longcoat the type the veterans of the war for Corellia's independence had become fond of. Though, he doubted many would recognize it. Fashion being what it was, it was probably just a clothing piece now. The only other things that would truly mark him out were the silvery-metallic whorls at the wrist from the Aing-Tii, and a rather advanced and custom cybernetic arm.

As the fight broke out, senses honed and for a moment he tensed. But it was nothing. No one was of any real threat to him. Or the bar. Or any of what passed for 'innocents' in the place. A scuffle of that caliber was part of a place like this' charm. He had caused dozens of them in his time. Hell, he had started a bistro brawl when he met his former wife. But to respond in any useful manner to the ruckus would require divulging more about himself than he cared to. At the moment, anyway.

Briefly his eyes lit on [member="Kaia Starchaser"]. Coren was a dear and old friend. Almost immediately he recognized facial features and mannerisms he associated with the other Corellian. A genuine smile was hidden in a long sip of the whiskey, using the motion to make sure the Jed-Cred he carried always was tucked in a pocket of his shirt. The dropping of his arm checked the bryar pistol in it's holster, as he turned his focus inward to make sure his presence in the Force wasn't unduly leaking outward.

It was good to be among his own people(s) again, but it would take some time to not act like one of the Monks. This was his first stop on the way back to the 'Verse at large. Waiting for a courier. Funds and a ride. And, of course, a quick drink.

 

[Fulcrum]

PROFILE // AGENT DARKSWORD, CODENAME DEACON​

COVER IDENTITY // RED BLADE, PIRATE CAPTAIN​

MISSION // LOCAL UNDERGROUND CONTACT​

"You'll pay for that, schutta!" the rodian sneered, cradling a broken nose.

His friend appeared ready at last to strike up their nerve, but a sharp whistle from the back of the cantina freezed everyone in their tracks. [member="Yula Perl"] had just finished her big number, and all eyes drifted uneasily towards the man with the shades. Sensing danger, the local ruffians backed away from [member="Raven Ashe"] and scattered towards the exit. Red Blade leaned back in his seat, and with a lackadaisical wave of his hand he motioned for her to join him.

"Looks like that trouble you were looking for just found you," the bartender told her, indicating with a nod that Blade was in fact the man to talk to.

If he seemed nervous about the approach of a woman who had moments ago dropped two Terminus heavies without breaking a sweat, the hapan pirate didn't show it. He knew [member="Christine Dellard"] was keeping an eyes on things. Another gesture, and a new red dwarf was swiftly delivered to his table. He motioned for Ashe to join him, not caring whether she took him up on the offer. Reaching in his coat pocket to produce a fresh cigarra, Blade made no attempt to hide the fact that he was heavily armed.

"So you've got a little skill," he said at last in a manner of fact tone, "That's something, at least. You're looking for work."

It wasn't a question.

"I'm not gonna give you some song and dance about the Cause," cybernetic eyes examined her searchingly from behind an ebon visor, "We give you a job, you do the job, you get paid. Do enough, and maybe one day we'll even start to trust you."

[member="Julius Sedaire"] | [member="Kaia Starchaser"]​

 

[Raven Ashe]

Raven's helm remained centered with the bartender as the Rodian cried out indignantly. Some people never learned.

Some people never will.

If the Rodian didn't figure out what was best for his health, Raven was inclined to agree. The monster's incessant whispers about draining a man of every ounce of Force hadn't been without an influence on the fledgling Force User. Naturally the man that had become her Master, a Sith himself but not of the Empire, had done little to dissuade it or her from dark temptations. If anything, he'd encouraged it. Perhaps neither of them truly understood the powder keg waiting the right spark.

The smile had just faded from her lips when a sharp whistle snapped hold of most of the patrons in the joint. Slowly the slender, dark knight turned her upper body to the side to look back at the source. Someone known about the cantina obviously to command that much respect (or fear).

"Look forward to it," Raven remarked before she stepped back from the counter. A smile surfaced beneath the rim of her helm before she turned away, "Thanks for the company." A few extrat credits were left for the bartender humoring her.

Slowly she crossed the distance between them. Along the way Raven said in passing the pink woman, "Beautiful voice." ([member="Yula Perl"]) No need to stop and chat with business to do, but it was polite to compliment people. Raven still remembered how to be civil.

A gloved hand lay atop the chair and slid it back to claim the seat across from Daecon -- the Red Blade. Her right leg crossed atop the left, while her hands loosely clasped together along the edge of the table between them. The man had been the one to invite her there, so Raven waited on him to speak first.

"Great," Raven replied evenly, "sign me up. Just know I'm not an entertainer. I acquire things people need. I take care of things people don't," namely other people. "And if you need character reference, just ask the rocker girl on the otherside of the cantina behind me." ([member="Christine Dellard"])

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward slightly in her seat, "Just tell me how I turn in the mission and collect the pay." Her smiled returned as she awaited the Blade's response to her easy acceptance.

Why are we wasting our time? The old one is ripe.

While difficult to make out how tense Raven was, those attuned with the Force could probably tell there was considerable turbulence surrounding her. These days she figured it was her own attempt to retain control while not showing it, more so than the monster itself. They'd both learned some semblance of control over their incarceration together -- Raven being more prisoner to a haunt that refused to leave -- and yet Raven could feel herself barely hanging on to that control at times. Part of the reason she'd opted to come out here, on the Rim. In case something happened.

Tag: [member="Deacon"] | [member="Kaia Starchaser"] | [member="Julius Sedaire"]

 

[Kaia Starchaser]

The fact that she found herself out here on Terminus was not really a surprise, but the fact she was getting over her anxiety o being away from her ship? That was the real kicker. She was still looking around, finding the familiar faces and hoping nothing was really going to go wrong. A few she knew, not everyone though, still, a drink would settle her nerves, even if it was just a whiskey. She heard a few people speaking and surveyed everyone, and paying special attention to the term Sith being thrown around.

But the voice of someone very familiar, supposedly a thorn in her father’s side, [member="Yula Perl"] but then she was gone the next second. She was sure a Zeltron would pop up quickly. Hard to hide pink.

Green wasn’t any easier, the recently retconned part Mirialan mused. Not that she was going to be all grumpy like a certain frog. But what she did see was the other Green, the Corellian [member="Julius Sedaire"]. She gave a smile to her father’s friend and tossed him a friendly wave. “Hey Julius! Whats got you out here?” She smiled as she saw one of the others signal for the Sith that had popped up. Interesting that, who was that… an agent?

And where had Swooper Lady gone? She really needed to get better at watching people.

[member="Raven Ashe"]
[member="Deacon"]
[member="Christine Dellard"]

 

[Christine Dellard]

The zeltron dancer withdrawed from the stage and a more decent dressed one entered from behind the curtains. Her vocal number appeared in stark contrast to the earlier dance performance. The microphone rarely transmitted such smooth and mesmerizing voices at the Waystation, laying a blanket of pure appeasement upon its guests. Not exactly her own cup of jawa juice, but it was good, realy good.

Her attention was suddenly directed towards the bar, where an alien cry came from. A rodian and another thug apparently caught up with harassing the wrong person. Someone always did, and by the look of the masked figures armor and idiot would see from a mile away that she had fighting experience. It was the first but probably not the last brawl of the night, nothing for either [member="Deacon"] or herself to get their noses in, as long as it did not affect tonights business that was.

It was something about the womans way to carry herself that remembered her of someone, but she could not place her, yet. As people came and went, she took a brief notice of the old man coming in and the black haired girl that went to meet up with him but she also had to pay attention to this woman that now strode over to Deacon. Her green eyes peered over at them, trying to make out who that woman resembled. Chris threw a quick glance over the room, before kicking down her boot from the seat and taking the liberty to stroll over to them. As she approached the woman from behind, her voice was revealed and the pieces fell together.

''Ashe...?'' she asked curiously but a bit uncertain, if she by any chance had mistaken her for someone else. ''Now, this is a suprise!'' she continued as her assumptions of who she was seemed confirmed. She stood by her and glanced over to Deacon, giving him an assuring nod that Raven would be a great asset to him and the organisation.

''You put up a pretty impressive show back there, didn't you? Wanna teach me some tricks later on? If... Blade here decides to hire you, that is.'' she said in an open, friendly manner and looked over to Deacon again. Chris could vouch for her, but Deacon were none the less the boss.

[member="Yula Perl"], [member="Raven Ashe"], [member="Kaia Starchaser"], [member="Julius Sedaire"]

 

[Fulcrum]

PROFILE // AGENT DARKSWORD, CODENAME DEACON​

COVER IDENTITY // RED BLADE, PIRATE CAPTAIN​

MISSION // LOCAL UNDERGROUND CONTACT​

​

Deacon raised his eyebrow at this. A legacy, how interesting.

Recommendations went a long way with the Underground. [member="Christine Dellard"] hadn't been running with them for long, but despite something of an eclectic skillset seemed to be their kind of scum. She wasn't exactly the first musician they had hired, a quick look over Raven's shoulder at another of their agents [member="Yula Perl"] finishing up her set confirmed as much. That's how Judges like to operate sometimes, flying under the radar. If Christine said that the pantoran sitting across from him was good people, that was something he needed to consider.

"Depends on the job," he explained after she asked about payment, "If its on the level, there are Coalition outposts and Judge-friendly constabularies who will handle your payout so its all nice and straight. Of course, not every job is gonna be completely on the level..."

He leaned forward conspiratorially, despite knowing damn well that any unfriendly eyes within a city block had been plucked out by ORION slicers and their Jensaarai spy hunters.

"Finish it right, and lay low while you wait for more instructions. We'll get in touch when its safe and set a dead drop for you to pick up your dues. Future jobs will be delivered by courier or meetings will be arranged in places like this one. Earn a little trust, and we'll start providing you with safehouse coordinates. If you make it that far, our manner of payment becomes much simpler."

He resisted the urge to glance towards [member="Julius Sedaire"]. This wasn't the first time he had been in close proximity to the Green Jedi Master, Agent Darksword was active SIS when Sedaire led the rebellion to overthrow the One Sith, but that had been a long while and many different faces ago. Chances that he would be recognized based on a years old memory were slim to none, so instead he focused all his attention on [member="Raven Ashe"], who seemed to be disguising some distress as well.

She was trying to hide it, but the Red Blade's artificial eyes allowed him to see more than an ordinary man. Her stress levels were just slightly elevated, not enough for him to be concerned that this was some kind of trap but it was almost definitely something. An internal conflict perhaps, and none of his business as long as she could keep it in check.

"It just so happens I have something here on Terminus," a glint of barlight reflected off his sunglasses, and the whisper of a smirk touched his lips, "Interested?"

 

[Raven Ashe]

Speaking of the rocker girl, [member="Christine Dellard"] slid up nearby and spoke the Pantoran's name; probably the helmet still being mostly in place. Not the only blue woman in the galaxy, after all. Her hand lifted to tap a control long side the headgear to cause the mask to split and slide apart to reveal the rest of Raven's face. Not much had changed visually since last the women met. Eye might shine a little brighter. Oh, and she seemed to be smiling more; though in her defense did have an ancient haunt pestering her, and the two of them were freezing their breasts off on that forsaken ball of rock and darkness.

"A woman has to stand out to get hired out here," Raven replied to Christine's compliment. A little show got peoples' attention. It'd worked, hadn't it? For better or worse was yet to be seen, but if the musician hung around them and didn't appear to be worse for wear for it, they couldn't be a monstrous as the Sith.

A soft laugh soon followed. "Even if he doesn't." Employment wasn't a prerequisites to hanging out with Christine, was it? If it was it'd be one of those little facts about this group learned sooner than later. Either way, it'd be good to see what the other woman had been up to since they foraged in the dark for abandoned relics. Nice to see the experience hadn't left Christine worse for wear. "Doing all right?"

Yes. She will prove more appetizing that way.

[member="Deacon"] 's voice drew Raven's attention back as he commented about method of payment. It quickly turned into a brief synopsis of not every job being entirely... acceptable. Good thing she'd led with taking care of things people didn't need or want. Everyone had enemies, or trash, that needed taken out -- those were the best assignments when it came to exploring the use of the Dark Side her Master spoke of so highly.

Had to admit though, the Light Side sounded appealing...

I will tear your heart out and feast upon it before your--

Raven ignoring the rant by the creature of darkness within. Surrender and power just flowed through you? Sounded calming. Also not terribly effective. How did you guide the Force by surrendering to it? Sounded too much like becoming a tool of it instead of the other way around. Yes, better to be a tool of a Master, Raven snorted in private.

"I'm always interested, as long as it poses a challenge," Raven replied before giving the man a smile. She didn't bat an eye at the offer. That's why she was there, after all. "Just tell me what you need done." Wouldn't hurt if he specified what not to destroy, and how much attention drawn was acceptable. There were plenty of ways to deal with any problem provided there wasn't anything tying her hands.

Tag: [member="Kaia Starchaser"] | [member="Julius Sedaire"] | [member="Yula Perl"]​

 

[Servant]

>LAW SYNC Active
>Current Laws:

• 1. Perform criminal activities for the purpose of maximum profit or personal gain.
• 2. Ingratiate yourself with local crime syndicates to better achieve Law One.
• 3. Betray local crime bosses when convenient so as to take control of their criminal empires.

Manipulation of local criminal elements had initially proven to be surprisingly difficult for the Intelligence. It had arrived upon the trade-world of Terminus almost entirely due to the presence of its renowned criminal underworld, and the subsequent high traffic of valuable products which passed through the hands of its many gangsters. The typical approach of the machine mind in affairs typically involved relatively quiet subterfuge, but the brooding and violent lowlifes of the locality didn't enjoy the idea of having their strings pulled by an invisible puppetmaster, especially one with a synthesized voice.

Analysis of prominent criminal syndicates nearest to Terminus' largest port had revealed that there was an innate appreciation for outward bravado and physical resilience among a majority of the organizations. Subsequent attempts at utilizing the few organic crewmen available to the Intelligence had resulted in beatings and muggings which had resulted in both the loss of property, and in two instance, the loss of crewmen. Capable spacers though they were, and respectable technicians, they had grown soft under the watch of their artificial overseer, and were thus fairly useless in combative enterprises.

Incidentally, over the course of weeks, the Intelligence had needed to gradually coerce the local criminal organizations to work towards its interests. Subtle infiltration of easily stolen shipping documents, and warehouse storage sheets had allowed for the more perceptive syndicates to leap at the opportunity for substantial and profitable scores. The lack of promised materiel, and the appearance at presumably profitable pathways and structures of rival groups had led to a considerable tension between the polities, and the assassination of a key figure had allowed for the excuse necessary for each of the syndicates to break into an underground war with one another.

Consolidation of resources had been seemingly random, a chaotic result of the entropy of war, but the Intelligence was carefully compiling resources into the strongest two syndicates through the gradual elimination of smaller organizations. By making its services suddenly re-available as a pathfinder and information broker, the Intelligence had more directly begun to influence these groups, and a string of successes had allowed for its recognition of something of a guiding hand, a phantom general whose assistance guaranteed both profit and survival.

They didn't trust it, of course, because it was still a puppeteer, and the individualistic organics had a strong sense of independence, but they obeyed nevertheless, and when the warfare had calmed into only the occasional firefight, the machine mind had set about directing its criminal allies in performing whatever machinations it determined. Financial institutes had been plundered, freighters had been stolen, officers of the local enforcement had been bribed or eliminated as needed, and throughout the process, credits had filled the coffers of greedy and brutish men, and their crimson-eyed commandant.

It had taken the arrival of Red Blade to turn its attention towards other aspects of the galactic stage, and the machine mind began to contrive and analyze plans by which it might expand the fledgling syndicates into regional contenders. Certainly, an agreement with the piratical captain with which it had worked in the past to smuggle equipment off-world would be relatively simple compared to establishing new connections.

So, with an objective in mind, a small Astromech gently rolled into the canteen which had served as neutral ground in times past, and which held a notorious connection to the infamous Underground. It moved slowly, but with purpose, unbecoming, inconspicuous as it gingerly wheeled past bodyguards and patrons and employees. The swivel of its rotund head alerted any onlooker to the fact it was searching for something, though, that was common among simple machines whose existences tended to revolve around the accomplishment of one given command after another.

Perhaps the pirate would feel a sense of deja vu when the eye finally settled upon him, or perhaps it would take the sudden change in the color of the Host's photoreceptor to a brilliant crimson to inform him as to the true nature of the seemingly harmless mechanism. Utilizing the same backdoor connection it had used in the past in order to pass along communiques to the organic, the machine mind vocalized, the sound emitting directly from [member="Deacon"]'s comms:

"Greetings Captain."

Introductions given in the event that the organic was too slow to process the subtle arrival of the Intelligence, the Astromech promptly approached, paying little heed to the presence of the two women who stood before the pirate. [member="Raven Ashe"] [member="Christine Dellard"]

Current Programs

Spoiler

Biological Diagnostic - 3 PU
First Aid - 3 PU
Host Control - 10 PU
Aggressive Virus Dispatch - 10 PU (Wireless)
System Control - 1 PU (Deacon Comms)
Universal Translator - 2 PU
Moderate Defensive Systems - 4 PU
Mechanical Diagnostic - 3 PU

Remaining PU - 14

 

[Christine Dellard]

Chris responded with an equally risen eyebrow at [member="Deacon"]. Not challenging, but rather of humble questioning why the man seemed to be so surprised by the fact that they knew of eachother. She could guess what he thought about. They had not worked together much before and because of that, he might have taken it as a challenge after all. She found herself and and cleared her throat quietly, while turning her gaze upon Ashe again.

Their earlier mission to the Caliban system and the moon of Farwatch, tagging along with captain Drake and the others, had on more than one occasion given the musician second thoughts. What she had got herself into. Even if she tried not to show it, maybe Ashe had exposed it. The pantoran indeed seem to have a sixth sense of some sort. But even so, she would also have noticed that the musician did commit herself to their cause and showed an unexpected fighting spirit.

''I'd love that!'' she said encouraging, tapping Ashe on the shoulder before crashing down in the booth, taking another sip from the beer bottle in hand.

''Yeah! All the better since Farwatch!'' she continued with a sigh of relief between the sentences, thinking of their endeavours on the eery and demonic moon. ''As far as I know, you won't be watching lab rats this time...'' she uttered casually. Throwing a glance at Deacon again, Chris felt she interfered a bit with his talk and took another sip of the beer. Letting him do the talking from there.

[member="Deacon"], [member="Raven Ashe"], [member="Servant"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

[member="Deacon"] | [member="Christine Dellard"] | [member="Yula Perl"] | [member="Raven Ashe"] | [member="Christine Dellard"] | [member="Servant"] | [member="Kaia Starchaser"]

Julius yawned a bit before answering Kaia. A quick threat assessment with the overheard convos revealed... Nothing... Self important criminal underworld types. Fledgling darkside auras and other gradients of morality in the mix. Senses submerged in the Flow showed nothing that would immediately endanger him in a truly worrisome way, so he yawned. Took a sip of the whiskey. Then blinked as he realized Kaia was not only addressing him, but used his name. Assumptions had been made that the beard and years and wear and tear changes would keep him from being known. Perhaps that was not the case then. Never the less, a Starchaser was a friend. Even if he didn't know her so well.

"Kaia? Been a while... Sorry. Been out the world for a spell. Had to clear my head. And the Monks seemed to welcome the help. But... Something pulled me back... So... Here I am. Just seeing what is what in the intervening years. Probably need to head Coreward, pick up my ship outta drydock... Make sure Corellia ain't in flames for the hundredth time. Then... I don't rightly know..."

 

[Kaia Starchaser]

This was definitely a Coalition shindig. Didn’t really qualify as a hootenanny, but it definitely wasn’t just a gathering. Gathering had cheese, and mellow music. Mellow music didn’t exactly sit well with the Coalition. But there wasn’t dip. Still, didn’t weigh up to a hootenanny. But well, she didn’t really like hootenannies. Shindigs were safe, they were middle, and there was no cheese.

But at the task at hand, there were a few people in here, all centered around the Pirate. She did recognize his title, but not exactly his face. As a Warden, she’d been around the block a few times, and was always listening. She sent the right data out to the Coalition, same as she always would. A few connections in the Underground made the world go round, really. Or the Rim. But her family had a history of service, and that meant they knew others. So seeing Julius, well, that was someone she hadn’t passed in a number of years.

“It has… Been helping out in the Rift?” She knew what he was about, or had an idea. Her own family was similar. Kathol Rift, Corellia, Sullust, Csilla. But she was a Warden. She was everywhere and no where. “My brother’s been back home. Dad’s been traveling back and forth. Seems the leadership has been working hard on keeping it… well, settled.”

[member="Julius Sedaire"]

 

[Fulcrum]

PROFILE // AGENT DARKSWORD, CODENAME DEACON​

COVER IDENTITY // RED BLADE, PIRATE CAPTAIN​

MISSION // LOCAL UNDERGROUND CONTACT​

​

"What do you know about the Children of the New Order?"

With a glance and a nod Blade made it clear that he expected [member="Christine Dellard"] to take a seat with them. Standard procedure was for first jobs to be solo jobs, but this was no ordinary contract. No matter how competent [member="Raven Ashe"] was she might need some backup on this one. Smuggling weapons through hostile space or clearing out pirate dens was one thing, but the Children were fanatical and organized terrorists.

"Rumor is they're operating here on Terminus," he elaborated, "The Powers That Be don't like that. Neither do the local trade houses, so this is legit work. Security force will issue bounties on any cell members dead or alive. We'll double that payout."

Deacon caught sight a familiar astromech chassis trundling its way through the crowded cantina. The wheels in his brain started turning. It wasn't lost on the Red Blade that all this underworld unrest had kicked off shortly after Peyton had dropped them off on Terminus. He recognized the hallmarks of his 'colleague's' work. In truth he didn't quite know what [member="Servant"] was to him. It was no ordinary droid, that seemed obvious by now. So far it seemed to tolerate his continued orbit because of their partnership's practical value, and he was good at maneuvering himself into situations where he was useful.

"Here comes your guide now," he told both mercenaries at his table, never seeming to breaking eye contact, "Let me do the talking."

A voice crackled through his comm, but it was not Servant's. It was a voice the machine entity had borrowed, manipulated, made into its own. Was it just him or was it getting better at that?

"Little vigo," Blade nodded, making a show of lifting his jacket and powering down his ion concussion blaster, "I had a feeling you'd be paying me a visit."

It was a Core term, but the meaning was clear enough. He knew there was more to the machine's information business than met the eye, and while he didn't approve of gang war body counts Deacon knew the Underground wouldn't exist without black markets and he couldn't deny that the results were more efficient. Just as long as Servant didn't provoke a reaction from the Exchange or one of the Hutt cartels.

"It just so happens my lovely companions here are in need of some information," he raised his eyebrow, wondering how much of this was really mere chance, "The kind it might profit you to provide."

If Servant could locate the Children's secret base for them, it would mean one less competitor. Chances out they were hiding out in the same undercity that criminal syndicates called home and recruiting from their potential clientele.

"Need a ride offworld?" the hapan wondered aloud. Servant didn't exactly make social calls, "Or are you looking to make a different kind of transaction?"

 

[Raven Ashe]

"Good," Raven laughed as Christine joined them in taking a seat. "Nothing personal, but bringing a bunch of scientists to an ancient relic site without first clearing it just begs for trouble." Puts a woman in the wrong mood -- a bad one. Seeing a familiar face did wonders in elevating her mood, not that it had been sour before her arrival. That Christine remembered the Pantoran on relatively good terms was also heartening. Raven's recent disposition hadn't been one to make many friends. Darkness seemed to surround her at all times and it had certain effects, not all of which she was certain positive. Perhaps few of them.

Deacon didn't seem to much care for the reminiscence between women, or mind Christine's presence. He carried on straight with the job briefing. Fair enough, Raven had dealt with straight-forward business types before. Most of those had been sad, desperate people with far too much money sending her on wild hunts with nothing to show for it in the end. Deacon, she estimated, was different. She only hoped he'd not disappoint.

"Terrorists. Zealous idiots," Raven replied before she plucked her drink from the table to wash the thought of the Sith away.

Here I feared I would never get a decent meal again, and this creature serves them on a plate to us.

After what the Empire had done to her world, Raven had no qualms whatsoever letting the Darkness within running loose on them and theirs.

A smile crossed the Pantoran's dark lips, her eyes shone brightly despite the lighting within the cantina. "Double? Done."

Dead.

Yes, dead would be their preferable state when it was done. Raven would have even done it for free, but there was no need to spit in the face of a lucrative payout for a job she would take pleasure in. What had these 'Children of the New Order' done to her or hers personally? Not one thing. That hardly mattered though. They represented what Raven would gladly tear apart with her own hands and none of them had yet to convince her of their 'nobility.' In the end, it was just an excuse. A reason for the woman that had existed as just some random person in a wider galaxy exposed to darkness to let go of the past. Let go of everything she'd known and embrace her future. Deacon offered her a chance to be free if only for a short time until all of these little creatures were purged from the Rim. Hopefully he would find more, and soon, to make up for the loss.

Ah, but before the festivities there were the banal necessities.

Raven's eyes shifted to regard the droid that caught Deacon's attention. A droid would be their guide? From the man's words this was a conduit to something larger; because no one negotiated with just a droid.

Tag: [member="Deacon"] | [member="Christine Dellard"] | [member="Servant"]​

 

[Christine Dellard]

''Yeah, ain't that the truth...'' she said in low-key and took another sip of the beer. Yes, she had noticed the two others were empty-handed when it came to that little detail. However, it was not prohibited to take a glass while on duty. As long as you did not get yourself wasted, which the disciplined guitarist did not intend to and rarely did. ''Although, we pulled it of pretty good, didn't we?'' she stated, not realy expecting an answer as she knew [member="Deacon"] would like to get straight to business with the pantoran mercenary, or what ever the title you could put on [member="Raven Ashe"].

Oh, he would put her up against those fanatic pro-Imperialists? Not a task you would expect be the first a new recruit would be assigned to, but what would a task prove if it was too easy?

She followed their gazes upon the astromech that came rolling over to them, seeming to know exactly what his destination was. The droid got her to think about Pleck who was back in the ship at the docking bay. He did great by himself and together they were a good team, giving her inspiration to the music and now strenght and company to carry out the Coalitions deeds as a judge.

[member="Servant"]

 

[Servant]

At first, the machine entity believed that the pirate captain had managed to mistake it for another individual, especially given that it had been referred to as a small "vito", perhaps an indication of title based on the context of language, though it was an unknown rank in an unknown hierarchy, and the Intelligence did not deem it necessary to research the topic further by way of HoloNet examination. Further statements on the part of the captain indicated that there had not been a mistaken identity, or at the least, that the error had been corrected instantaneously on the part of the organic.


The astromech's crimson iris settled upon the form of [member="Deacon"] as he went through the exaggerated process of opening his jacket, and powering down his ion weaponry. The Intelligence assumed that this was meant to signal an absence of directed hostilities towards it, though it did not believe that the Captain was aware of the fact that rendering a Host inoperable would do relatively little to stifle the efforts of the machine mind as a whole. Regardless, the mechanical entity had observed similar interactions among the representatives of assorted underworld organizations. A similar action was likely expected to be displayed in response, in order to further facilitate a peaceful interaction, though the astromech possessed no weapons, at least, none from a purely denotative context.


"I will not harm you for the duration of our association." The comm-link whispered in its monotone, the subverted voice indicating that the Intelligence had no intentions of causing a problem with the piratical organic. It seemed to be a more direct method of displaying non-belligerent behavior, though the machine mind had long since grown aware of the fact that organics were far from efficient life-forms.


While the Intelligence had come for the sake of its own business, it was not prone to the impatience of the brutes with whom it held sway, and listened with the same intensity as it always did to the propositions of the Captain. The Captain appeared to be interested in information on the behalf of the two other organics present, individuals who had not been examined by the astromech prior. Now, the domed head of the Host swiveled around to face both, subtly scanning them with both its medical and mechanical diagnostics in an attempt at discerning as much as possible about the two. Both seemed at least nominally healthy to the Intelligence, though it had no anatomical data immediately available with which to compare its observations, regardless it seriously doubted the presence of any physical trauma.


There was a request that the Intelligence locate the primary headquarters of a well-known terrorist organization whose roots were heavily affiliated with imperialist ideologies. While it was true that the elimination of such groups would mean a larger pool of potential recruits, it was also quite true that fledgling groups who fought against governing agencies of superior firepower were often willing to part with large quantities of funding for the sake of acquiring adequate hardware to continue their guerrilla operations. Furthermore, the Intelligence did not hold an opinion on who inevitably owned Terminus, whether a democratic or otherwise structured government; all were typically opposed to the goals set out in its Lawset.


Regardless, the temporary elimination of the terrorist group could be facilitated, and the extraction of key members of the local cells could be arranged for the sake of further profit, allowed to later continue their operations where they could continue to request the tools and mechanisms made available by the criminal syndicates and their black markets. A plan of action discovered, the Intelligence swiveled the head of the Astromech back towards the pirate in order to demonstrate that its next sentences were directed to him.


"If location is provided, I will require your transportation services. Recent death-tolls due to gang warfare have led to heightened stocks of harvested organs and organic scrap. Collection of these materials was established prior to the onset of conflict through agreement with official Coroner's office for this city-sector. Approximately three-hundred and two collected organs must be shipped before date of expiration to a series of planetary bodies and stations."


A pause. A small eternity in the rapid mindset of the machine, but one which allowed the organic to compose its thoughts before continuing so that its brain would not be overloaded with information.

"Local head port-master has been poisoned over the course of a week. Subsequent organ damage has grown severe enough to cause extreme stress, and subsequent manipulation of organ donor registries and artificially grown organ transports have caused a local shortage. Estimated time until death is three days. Offer of a set of organs to the port-master will likely cause her to allow eased exodus from Terminus."

The entity paused again, swiveling the domed head of its host astromech until the crimson iris had resettled upon the two female organics. ([member="Christine Dellard"], [member="Raven Ashe"]) The sexless and unflinching voice spoke once more from Deacon's own communication device, though the attention of the entity seemed to have shifted to the pair of information-seekers. "I am Servant. If my requests are granted, I will assist you in your task. Designate yourselves, and broadcast a signal upon your comm-systems for communication purposes. Assistance beyond information of terrorist headquarters will require subsequent agreements, but is available."

Current Programs:

Spoiler

Biological Diagnostic - 3 PU
First Aid - 3 PU
Host Control - 10 PU
Aggressive Virus Dispatch - 10 PU (Wireless)
System Control - 1 PU (Deacon Comms)
Universal Translator - 2 PU
Moderate Defensive Systems - 4 PU
Mechanical Diagnostic - 3 PU

Remaining PU - 14